Keep Yer Feet on the Ground?
by GenesisDevice
Summary: In the surprisingly Dwarf-free skies above Dalaran, two Draenei reaffirm their love - or hate - of flying carpets. Mild slash and swears.


**Title: Keep Yer Feet on the Ground...?**

**Author: GenesisDevice**

**Warnings: Man-on-man and some swears.**

**Other info/disclaimer: Alaikos is my mage, Earthmover is my mate Dave's shaman, used with his permission. World of Warcraft and all related items are the property of Blizzard Entertainment. No profit is being derived from this work.**

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There's something to be said for sleeping on a flying carpet. Yes, there is the small point that you're essentially lying on a bit of cloth, with no other support beneath you but hundreds of feet of air, and that if you roll over you're likely to plummet to your death, but... well, I'd _like_ to think I'm not that stupid.

But once you get over that initial insecurity, there's an amazing sensation of weightlessness. Wait, I hear you say. You're an elementalist, surely you don't need a carpet for that? Wrong. They don't call me the Earthmover for skipping about in the sky. If I'm brutally honest, I find flying abhorrent. I like my hooves planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much. But when the magi, in their infinite wisdom, decided to stick their city a thousand feet above the Crystalsong Forest, they left me no other choice but to spread my proverbial wings now and then. It saves time, I'm big enough to admit that – fighting every creature that wanted a taste of my blood got very tiresome after a while – but telling myself not to look down never stops me from constantly looking down and nearly losing the contents of my stomach in the process.

"Hello, stranger!"

THAT'S what I'm talking about. The voice came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that I yelped and practically shot off the side of the carpet, which promptly began to list and send me sliding off, the certainty that I was about to be impaled upon one of Dalaran's impossibly sharp towers slamming itself into my mind.

I opened one of my tightly shut eyes the tiniest amount when after several seconds I felt no sensation of movement. The billowing edge of a robe filled my vision, and looking at my hand I could detect an azure hue pulsing out from my skin. Quickly deducing what was going on, and knowing that only one person could be responsible, I opened my eyes fully and got to my feet – or at least, as much as one can when one is hovering in mid-air.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that."

Alaikos flashed me a smug grin and folded his arms, seeming perfectly at ease standing hundreds of feet above solid ground. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before rushing off without me, hmm?" he teased.

I shrugged and looked around, seeking the nearest semblance of solid ground – my carpet, which was now quite happy to float perfectly still and level with the rest of the world. I grabbed the hem and yanked it towards me, before sitting back down on it and silently willing it not to buckle again. Thankfully, it was content to oblige.

"Well maybe if you hadn't spent so much time in the Shattrath libraries studying who dares guess what..." my voice trailed off. Crap! He had only been here thirty seconds and already he was reducing me to the likes of a horny teenager. How did he do that? I made a mental note to sneak a look at his numerous spellbooks the next time I had the chance.

"What?" he asked, the grin becoming a small smile of feigned innocence. Damn. He knew what I wanted, and what's more I knew what he wanted – but he was not going to make it easy for me.

I looked at him more fully, the urge to darken his cheeks and knock him down a few notches already ebbing away, to be replaced by something altogether more... desirable. That was the word for him alright – desirable. He was actually a little older than me, but he always had the air of a man five years my junior – and I assure you, it was nothing to do with his magic. We had similar forehead plate structure, though his 'Crown of Velen' was less pronounced, curving inward slightly at the tips. He kept his dark hair short, as he did his sideburns, which did an interesting job of framing his face. I remember the last time we saw each other he had been thinking about doing something different with his beard, and I had begged him not to. There's nothing like stubble burn to ruin a great fuck. Besides, beards are also a great way to conceal a guys lips, and those really help to suss a guys oral potential before a hook up. No, in case you hadn't guessed, I'm not a beard person.

Those who didn't know him as well as I would have judged him the younger on his build. All Draenei males are beefy fuckers to an extent, though even a layman could spot our difference in occupation. While I'm built '_like a brick shithouse_' as the Humans would say, he's more slender – still muscular, but much less pronounced, much like the magic-wielders of any race. While he says he enjoys whacking something up the head with his staff as much as the next guy, he only truly allows himself to excel when he's fifty yards away from his target about to throw a fireball up its behind.

No, the real difference is demeanour. I love a joke or two now and then, but he's something else. He even found something to smile about when we emerged from the wreckage of the Exodar and discovered it was just the five – us plus Aya, Vedic and Sevrian – left out of... I don't even care to think how many more. Whether it was keeping his brother from coming on to my sister, or leading the charge against the Blood Elves at the vector coil, there was always a certain glow to everything he did.

"What?" he asked again, his eyes narrowing. I realised I had been silent for several moments, my mind wandering between fond memories and the fond sight before me.

"Nothing," I shook my head dismissively and grinned. "Hey, you know what you owe me, right?"

Alaikos' expression didn't change a bit. "As I recall it's you who owes me, several times as I recall. Plus, you still never introduced me to that druid you found so enticing back on Draenor."

I couldn't help but snigger at the memory of Quenyal and his reluctant companion, Diamyr of the Sin'Dorei. True, I had agreed to set them up at some point upon my return to the Outland, but I had been so knocked down by _that_ news hitting me when I set foot through the portal to Azeroth...

My man seemed to sense where his comment had unwittingly led my mind, and he reached out, laying a hand on my shoulder plate. It had been months – more – since Aya's death and subsequent rebirth, but it only took the slightest thing to transpose my spirit between now and that moment...

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He stepped – well, floated – across and sat lightly on the carpet next to me, his left thigh just brushing against my right. Damn, how did he manage to make everything he did so fluid? "Raen?" he prompted after I didn't respond, my birth name rolling off his tongue like it could no one else's.

"Just thinking," I answered, my voice low but calm. "Hey," I said after a moment, a smile touching the corners of my mouth as I felt his fingers begin to caress the nape of my neck. "Maybe you're right."

He looked at my quizzically for a second, but comprehension dawned as I touched his cheek and brought my lips to his. As always, he leant willingly into my embrace, the lightest moan escaping his throat when I allowed his tongue access to my own. I let the kiss linger for several seconds before moving back, the hunger for things to come readily apparent on Alaikos' face.

"Right here," I confirmed, moving my left hand down to his tight chest, the contours of his torso poorly hidden by his robe. Wanton desire flitted across his face, replaced quickly by concern.

"You sure?" he asked. "I don't want you freaking about being too high again."

The line was clichéd and downright cheesy, but it fell easily off my tongue as I pulled his body towards mine again.

"Babe, you take me higher than this thing ever could..."


End file.
